


Paint My Sleep

by austere_things



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst?, F/M, Red String of Fate, pure indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austere_things/pseuds/austere_things
Summary: It’s just another job. Felix gets a commission to paint for the the anniversary of Fodlan’s freedom. It’s an easy job...and then he meets the woman who will be assisting him. And then then he finds himself haunted by strange dreams. And then things get....complicated.Future AU. Initially meant to be a part of Felileth week. Mostly an homage to my addiction to red strings of fate trope and my love for Felileth.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

It was a little more than two months until the upcoming anniversary of the founding of Faergus, but the crowded streets of Fhirdiad were already thronged with thousands of new tourists eager to take part in the celebrations. The city itself seemed to love this. Stores and restaurants were making bank by offering trinkets of dubious quality, but full-heartedly passed off as being absolutely authentic to what would have been seen and tasted in those far-flung times. Street performers and musicians tangled with the crowds, plying them for change and attention in exchange for a song or a bit of whimsy. Banners, flyers, and decorations of all types swayed in the occasional bracing breeze. Even the University of Garreg Mach had gotten into the spirit by sending an impressive exhibition of paintings and artifacts to be displayed at the state museum. The entire city seemed to thrum with an energy so rarely seen.

And then, of course, there were also those who were not quite as enthusiastic. Those who really just wanted to get on with life as normal without the added hassle of slow, noisy tourists and inflated prices on literally everything.

Felix was one of the people who absolutely fell into this latter category.

Part of the crowd but desperately wishing otherwise, he let himself be shuffled along the narrow sidewalk. He knew that he just had to make it to the cul-de-sac which sat at the end of the street and he would find himself at his goal: the Royal Museum of Fine Art. Once there, he could tell the curator that there had apparently been a mistake. After all, he couldn’t imagine why, if not a mistake, he’d be offered a place in an exhibition fixed around a classic piece of historical portraiture; he had never shown even the slightest interest in classical works and his own preferred style was about as far removed from romanticized historical portraiture as possible. It had to have been a crossed wire somewhere in the network; that or the curator, a somewhat odd and eccentric man himself, had gotten it into his head that it would be funny to have a very modern artist struggle with putting something appropriate together. 

As he chewed sullenly at the remains of the cigarette caught between his lips, Felix glared pointlessly at the backs of the slow moving family ambling ahead of him. He knew that, at the moment, the cigarette was the only thing keeping him from yelling at the gawking tourists to hurry the hell up. The problem was that he had already worked it all the way to the filter; a few seconds more and he wasn’t sure he could keep from elbowing past the group and shoving anyone else ahead of them out of his way.

The sound of his cell phone chiming pulled Felix from his violent fantasy. Shifting his attention down to its screen, he was distracted enough by the text to not notice the bright haired teenager coming up fairly quickly behind him. Felix barely thought anything of it when the boy jostled his left arm and side as he ran past; it was only when he spotted his worn canvas satchel clutched in one of the teen’s hands that Felix belatedly reacted. 

“Oh, you sneaky son of a--” 

Felix immediately broke into a run to give chase, but he didn’t get very far. As it turned out, he didn’t need to worry about it, at all.

He hadn’t noticed the dark-haired woman waiting for the light at the corner, but he assumed that she had been to one of the souvenir stands. Even from a distance, he could see that she had a strangely spined spear held in one of her hands and it was this that she innocently stuck out to the side just as the thief came running past her. The teen clearly hadn’t noticed, either, as the broad tip smacked against his shin and he stumbled. He flailed his arms comically as he fought for a moment for his balance and then tumbled hard to the sidewalk. The woman brought the spear around with a flourish and pressed the blunt plastic tip against the front of his neck. 

Her voice was ice and steel as she glanced down to the pitiable teen. “Yield.”

The boy blinked his confusion. “Wh-wh-what?”

The plastic pressed a bit more firmly against his skin. “Yield.”

“What are you talking about? Let me up, you crazy--” And then a very unmanly yelp as she jabbed him lightly. “Alright! Fine! Fine! You can have the stupid purse! I yield! I yield!”

Felix jogged up to join them just as the woman snatched back the stolen satchel. He watched curiously as she straightened and held out a hand toward him. He stared for a moment at how the worn canvas strap pulled at her splayed fingers. Idly, he noticed the light calluses at tips of her fingers and the ridge of her palm; he noted, too, that the sea green polish on her nails was heavily chipped. 

Her voice sounded warmer and more amused as she spoke to him. “This is yours, then?”

He nodded, but he was suddenly too aware of the crowd which had been drawn by the woman’s antics. Struggling between embarrassment at needing to be saved and anger at having been stupid enough to be stolen from in the first place, he lifted his gaze to her face. He was fully prepared to bristle or even to yell, but then then he was caught in the strange jade of her glance.

It was like falling into the familiar embrace of the ocean.


	2. Memories Roll In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interulude, First Movement

_ Nothingness as dark as ink spread to every side. _

_ As far as he could see, there was nothing. It almost felt as though he, too, were nothing. He shifted his attention down to himself. Somehow, he could see it was the same flesh - the same arms, legs, and torso that he had known all his life. Everything was just as he remembered it, even in all this endlessness.  _

_ However, it did strike him as odd that, for all the darkness pressing in around him, he could still easily see a thin stripe of red as bright as the glow of an ember. The lone bit of color came from a string of red tied tightly around his thumb. He didn’t know how it had come to be there. He hadn’t tied it, himself, and he couldn’t imagine anyone else would have done so. Still, he didn’t mind it. It felt...nice. Warm. _

_ His eyes blinked closed and, when he opened them again, he noticed for the first time that the thread from his thumb extended out into the nothingness ahead. Like a path, it stretched into the infinity beyond and he felt compelled to follow. _

_ He didn’t know how long he had walked. He didn’t know if time even existed in this place. Still, the nothingness persisted around him - and then it didn’t. _

_ The first thing to resolve itself before him was a small calico cat of white, tan, and gray with one eye of bright green and one of rich brown. She was sitting patiently, but stubbornly, right atop the path of his string. She regarded him curiously for a long moment, voiced a loud mew, and then turned to pad off ahead. _

_ Her invitation to follow was clear. _


	3. Please Don't Tell

In the dim, cold light of early morning, a pair of security guards stood at the center of the lobby of the Royal Museum and chatted idly over styrofoam cups of coffee. Neither of them so much as turned their head when Felix rapped an impatient knuckle against the massive glass doors. In the end, he ended up having to both knock against the glass and shout to finally get their attention.

“The museum doesn’t open until nine, sir,” the shorter, dark-haired guard informed him coolly. “And you can’t sleep in the lobby. I don’t care how cold it is.”

The taller, blond guard laughed easily and shook her head. “Have a heart, ‘mir. Look at the poor kid. He probably hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week. No harm in letting him--”

“I was told by Mr. von Riegan that I should meet his assistant here before opening,” Felix interrupted. He put effort into keeping his tone even and calm, but that was a bit difficult with gritted teeth. “I’m Felix Fraldarius.”

“Ah, Fraldarius - Felix, right. We were told to expect one of the artists to come early.” The blond guard grinned and quickly stepped aside to allow him past. “Well, she’s waiting for you up on the third floor. She was in with the stuff that came from Garreg Mach, last we saw her. I’m sure you’ll know her when you see her.”

Felix responded without any trace of sarcasm at all. “Thanks, you’ve been so helpful.”

Once inside the museum proper, he couldn’t help but notice the numerous signs and banners for the historical exhibit. They were, after all, hung at just about every hallway or juncture. Each appeared to be done in the royal blue and white of the ancient king’s heraldry and each bore a stylized lion at the bottom. He followed these signs along until he found himself at the bottom of an elaborate set of twin staircases. As he paused for a moment, Felix thoughtfully studied a set of signs announcing the exhibition two floors up, but he quickly wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

“Goddess, they better not be expecting something like that from me,” Felix muttered to no one in particular. “I’d rather slit my own wrists than put my name on anything so cliche.”

An unexpected but dreadfully familiar voice addressed him from just above. “Isn’t that sort of cliche, though? An artist threatening to slit his wrists rather than go against his preferred style? Or is it just fear of selling out?”

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingertips. Suddenly, he rather desperately wanted a cigarette, despite having finished one a moment before coming inside, “Don’t tell me - you’re the assistant von Riegan wants me to meet.”

“Assistant? Is that what he called me?” There was a laugh caught somewhere in her tone as she paused at the bottom step. “Well, anyway, I guess that’s me. You can just call me Byleth, though. Ms. Eisner’s a bit too formal between old friends.”

He didn’t need to look up at her; from the voice alone, he knew that she was the same dark-haired woman who had retrieved his satchel the day before.

“Felix and we aren’t old friends. I barely know you” was all he offered in way of introduction. Really, he was just glad that he didn’t feel nearly as tongue-tied this time when he met her curious glance. “Anyway, all I need for you to do is to tell your boss--”

The woman, Byleth, held up a hand to stop him short as she shook her head. “Nope. No can do. I was instructed not to listen to any excuses. So, you’ll just have to follow me up and I’ll show you the central piece most of the artists are working around.”

“Eisner, this isn’t funny. I’m not--” and then he was talking to her retreating back.

Felix watched silently for a moment as she mounted the stairs. He supposed some small part of himself was mildly impressed that, even in significant heels, she was taking them two and three at a time. Still, he knew that his pride was still a bit wounded from the other day; he wasn’t about to let her show him up again. A frown of concentration wrinkled his forehead and tugged at his lips as he began to run up the steps after her. 

At first, Felix found himself constantly a pace or so behind, but, as they came to the second floor landing, he was able to cut the corner and gain an advantage. On the last flight, they were stride-for-stride for nearly the entire way; it was only at the end when Byleth put on an unexpected burst of speed and leapt entirely over the last three steps that Felix knew he had lost.

She paused at the top of the steps and turned to face him with her victory shining in her eyes. “Not bad for an artist. And a smoker, too, from the smell of it.”

“M’not just an artist. I have other interests, too,” Felix muttered. The smoker part was all too true, though; he could feel his lungs burning slightly and it was only his pride that kept him from puffing for breath. “And what do you mean by ‘from the smell of it’? Are you trying to say I stink?”

A slight grin pulled at the left corner of her mouth as she reached over and tugged at a bit of dark, silky hair which had fallen from his loose ponytail. “You smell of coffee and cigarettes. I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“I’ll thank you not to smell me. Or touch me,” he groused. Irritably, he swatted at her hand, but, upon seeing how that just seemed to amuse her all the more, he repurposed the gesture into taming back his loosened hair. “Just show me whatever it is you need to and then leave me alone.”

Byleth sighed, “You moody artists are all so serious. It’s such a shame.”

Still, gesturing for him to follow, she walked through the large archway which yawned darkly ahead of them. Once past that, she led him into a large open hall and, from the central room in which they now stood, Felix counted four hallways branching off to other parts of the exhibition. Instead of choosing any of those, however, Byleth guided him to a rather well-lit display at the center of the room. 

“Descent of the Goddess”, she intoned as she gestured upward at a quite large painting. “It’s what most everyone else is going to be working around, though I’d guess you’re not really the religious sort. Maybe you’d like to see something else?”

Felix answered with a vague noise. Honestly, he hadn’t even really heard the question. 

She had been quite right; he wasn’t the religious type. He also wasn’t the type to be moved by fairly standard art depicting fairly standard scenes from war - and that was what this painting should be considered. Still, he found that the central figure of the work, the goddess descending, grabbed and held his attention.

He couldn’t say what it was. The figure was beautiful, yes, but not in the way most art depicted beauty. Under loose bindings of gold and cream, the goddess was shown as both slim and pale but she was also strong and scarred. One finely muscled arm held aloft a strangely elongated and separated sword; its blade glowed a fiery red as it cut the air around her. The hand of the other arm extended out, as if offering its small bouquet of daffodils to those below. Blood, perhaps both her own as well as that of others, colored the paleness of her cheeks, but did nothing to diminish both the beauty and the fierceness of her strange, ethereal eyes. 

Eyes the color of jade. Eyes the color of a stormy sea.

“It’s fine. I can work with this,” Felix spoke after an extended pause. “One condition, though.”

Byleth sounded quite amused when she answered. “Hm? What would that be?”

“I need you to work with me.”


	4. Of the Things You Once Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude, Second Movement

_ He followed both cat and string into the yawning darkness.  _

_ It seemed as if he walked for hours. It seemed as if he had barely taken a dozen steps. _

_ Again, he blinked his eyes closed.  _

_ This time, when he opened them, he found himself standing in the center of the third floor lobby of the Royal Museum. Though his string continued to stretch ahead into the endless void, the calico had come to a rest. She was sitting, as patiently and as stubbornly as before, in front of the large display at the center of the room. _

_ He moved to stand behind her. Eagerly he tipped his head back so that he could again take in the eerily familiar painting of the beautiful war goddess - but that was not what he saw. _

_ Instead, what he saw was a depiction of a dark-haired swordsman clad in blue and white. This swordsman was depicted as one among many in a large-scale battle, but his sword was lost and broken in the mud under his feet. A large shield weighed against his uplifted arm and protected him against an onslaught of arrows, but he had clearly acted too slowly. _

_ Cradled in his other arm was a woman with hair the color of spring. Her head lolled lifelessly back against the swordsman's chest. Her jade eyes stared sightlessly into the stormy sky overhead. Blood streaked her face, its source an arrow jutting from her left temple. A strangely separated sword drooped in her loosened grip, soon to join his in the dirt below.  _

_ In the distance, a stately figure clad in gold held aloft a strange bow drawn with arrows of glowing red. _

_ In the darkness of the void, he wanted to scream.  _

_ He closed his eyes against what he saw. When he opened them again, nothing had changed. _

_ Nothing could change. _

_ Almost sadly, the calico voiced another mew. She stared at him with her strange, mismatched eyes for a moment before again padding away into the nothingness along the path of his red string. _


	5. Keep Them Hidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this need a content warning?
> 
> There's nudity and an introduction to what could be a kiss but isn't a kiss in the end? I don't know. I guess it isn't enough to really be mature yet.

It was well into their fourth week of working together and Felix...didn’t hate it?

Quite the opposite, he supposed. 

Ever since he had gotten her to agree to model for him, Felix had been meeting with Byleth at least five times a week in the comfort of his small but stylish loft. In even that short time, he had found her to be quite an useful and worthwhile model. Not only was she very willing to work with him, but she was also surprisingly less than shy when it came to his requests. He had fully expected her to balk the first time he’d asked her to pose for him naked, but she had gone along with it quite willingly; she seemed to be willing to go along with many of his requests - which made it all the more frustrating when his ideas for riffs on the theme of a war goddess fell flat.

It was such a moment of frustration which spurred him to talk with her as he glared fruitlessly as the mostly blank canvas. “Talk to me.”

“What about?” Byleth questioned without moving her eyes toward him. “You yelled at me every time I tried to talk to you before now. You said it distracts you too much.”

Felix made a frustrated noise. “Just talk. Tell me about that birthmark on your temple, the one just above your eyebrow.”

“What about it?” she muttered. “I’ve had it all my life.”

Another aggravated sigh and he allowed the brush to tumble from between his paint dappled fingers. As it clattered to the floor, he stepped around the easel, grabbed a plastic replica dagger which had been tossed casually onto the dark leather couch, and walked over to her. “You’re trying to be difficult, aren’t you? You have no problem chatting endlessly at me any other time.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Byleth huffed. “Yes, I’ve had a birthmark all my life. It’s the only one I can't hide with clothing and so I wear my bangs long to cover it?”

As he half-listened to her speak, Felix discovered that he very much liked how her irritation shone in her eyes, how it made her bare shoulders and back rigid and pushed her chest forward. There even seemed to be a faint pink to her cheeks that had been woefully absent the first time he’d asked her to pose for him. “So what you’re saying is that there are other birthmarks?”

She glared at him from the corner of her eye and crossed her arms under her breasts. “You should know. You’ve been painting me naked for more than a week, now.”

“Maybe I never thought they were worth noticing,” Felix ventured innocently. He was only just a step apart from her and, though he did make every effort to keep his eyes on hers, he did find his gaze dipping. Absently, he noted how the support of her arms made her already large breasts seem even more impressive. Too, he observed that her skin seemed particularly lovely in the low light of evening coming through the windows. “I’m an artist. I’m looking more at your form rather than the details.”

Byleth answered with a speculative humming sound.

He wanted to attribute it to the fact that he was distracted and only really half paying attention to her; the truth of the matter was that she had simply moved more quickly than he and had fully taken advantage of the fact that he was terribly distracted by something which really should have been routine for him.

Either way, in the blink of an eye, she reached for him. He swore he felt electricity as her fingers teased down the skin of his forearm and toward his wrist. His breath caught a bit in his throat as her touch shifted around to the sensitive skin of his inner arm and, when she worked around the plastic hilt of the dagger to press in and rub a series of slow, lazy circles against his pulse point, he couldn’t keep his eyes from half-closing, his voice from giving a small noise.

And then the dagger was out of his grasp and into hers.

And then the plastic blade of the dagger was pressed along the front of his throat and he realized that, If it were steel instead of plastic, then he’d likely already have his throat slit.

Byleth sounded very, very smug when she finally spoke. “You know, for someone who’s just looking at the form over the details, you seemed really distracted just now.”

Felix groaned. He couldn’t be entirely sure if his aggravation was coming from having been caught so obviously flat-footed or if it was because her very naked body was now pressed as tightly against his as the dagger was pressed against his neck. Regardless, he took a moment to clear his throat before carefully tipping his head to glance down to her. 

And he forgot entirely what he had meant to say. 

He wasn’t sure he even knew how to speak under the bright gaze of those startling eyes, so wide, so shining, so familiar. He let his glance dart lower, to the soft and inviting pink of her lips and the white of her teeth just past them; he felt that he had never wanted to taste anything more.

And then a discordant jingle cut the tension in the air between them. 

And then she stepped quickly away.

Letting the toy dagger tumble from her fingers, Byleth muttered a low curse as she raced to grab her cellphone from the discarded pile of her clothing. She knelt on the floor as she fished it from the pocket of her jeans and, as soon as it was to her ear, she began a conversation he only half-followed.

Felix couldn’t be bothered; he was too busy remembering how to breathe.


	6. And Who You Had Shared Them With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude, Third Movement.

_ As ever, the nothingness awaited him. _

_ As ever, the red string stretched an unknowable path ahead. _

_ As ever, the calico waited patiently for him. _

_ As before, he found himself in the grand lobby of the third floor of the Royal Museum.  _

_ This time, he didn’t want to move to the large display. He didn’t want to see what unpleasant image he was meant to see, but he felt he had little choice; seemingly of its own will, his body moved him to stand behind the patiently waiting calico and, though he stared at the cat for a long moment, he did eventually allow his gaze to lift upward. _

_ The painting was of a busy marketplace, but what should have been a serene pastoral scene was one of chaos. People with panicked and horrified expressions pushed and trampled each other in their effort to find escape. Stalls were overturned and goods scattered. Animals freed from their cages flapped and scurried about. Gold coins and other currencies shone against the cobblestones as greedy hands gathered them up. _

_ In the middle, the dark-haired swordsman, again.  _

_ Instead of standing and fighting, however, he was lying cradled in the gentle arms of a woman with hair the color of early spring. His face was pale and drawn, his copper eyes heavy, as he pressed a gloved hand over a severe wound in his left side, just over his ribs. Blood stained his glove crimson and turned the blue of his cloak dark, but he still reached upward to cradle the tear-stained cheek of the jade-eyed woman with his unstained hand.  _

_ A few steps away, a regal woman clad in crimson held a strange bladed dagger, its edge colored red, in one hand. In the other, she held a sheath of midnight blue. _

_ He winced his eyes closed. He wanted to demand why. He wanted to know why he was being shown all these terrible images. _

_ But he knew. _

_ He knew there would be no answers until he came to the end of his thread. _


	7. Words That Matter

The particular bar which Felix liked to frequent was small. It was not trendy nor was it popular. As far as he knew, it only existed as a place for its few clientele to use cheap alcohol as a means to escape from whatever problems dogged them in the outside world. What he liked best about it, however, was that it seemed like the very last place in all of Fhirdiad that would try to follow the current popular trend of taking on an old-fashioned name and mimicking the stereotypical traits of a tavern just to cash in on the upcoming anniversary.

Unfortunately, Felix realized that was not the case as he lingered on the crowded sidewalk outside. His head tipped back, he eyed the freshly painted sign with distaste. “The Twin Flames? What is that? This is The Jackhammer.”

“The Jackhammer sounds more like a hook-up type of bar,” Byleth half-laughed as she paused beside him. Catching movement from the corner of her eye, she quickly reached to hold the door for a young couple as they pushed past into the crowded interior. “So, this is where you hang out when you aren’t sulking in your apartment?”

Felix sighed. “Yes and no. The Jackhammer is where I go when I want to get drunk. I don’t even know what The Twin Flames is.”

Still holding open the door, she gestured for him to lead the way. “Come on. Don’t sulk, Felix. You said you needed a break and I need to talk; this is as good a place as any.”

He wore his displeasure like a mantle as he stalked through the door. Briefly, he scanned the room, but he quickly noticed that both his favorite stool at the bar and his favorite table were already taken. His expression crumpled into a scowl and he was about to suggest to Byleth that they go somewhere else when he felt her step in closer to him.

Leaning in, she spoke close to his ear in hope of being heard over the noise of the crowd. “You go ahead and get us something to drink and I’ll find a table?”

Felix wanted to argue. He wanted to insist that they go elsewhere or even that they just go walk around town for a while - but the warm puff of her breath against his ear made him imagine a thousand things all at once; all he could do was snap a quick nod before she disappeared into the crowd.

For a long moment, he stared after her, but a rude elbow from a passer-by jostled him from his reverie. He muttered an absolutely foul curse at the man’s retreating back and then headed to the bar. 

Unfortunately, the bar was as crowded as the rest of the room and Felix felt like it must’ve taken an hour to even make it close enough to order. Even once he made it that far, he ran into the issue of trying to convince the bartender to give him something that didn’t have a twee name like meade or grog or nectar. Ultimately, he ended up carrying a tray with a few shots of tequila to a table near the entrance which Byleth had claimed.

“Tequila?” She quirked an eyebrow at his choice in drinks. “That’s...not what I was expecting you to come up with.”

“If you want some meade or grog or...whatever, then you can go get it yourself,” he muttered. Settling into the chair opposite hers, he claimed two of the shots for himself and then pushed the tray toward her. “Or are you just worried about getting drunk around me?”

Byleth snorted a brief laugh as she took one of the remaining shots. “Should I be worried about you? I mean, I have heard things about artists, but you seem pretty alright.”

Felix laughed in turn, once he’d swallowed his drink. “Mm, no need. It’s just digital artists you have to watch out for; they’re into the creepiest shit.”

“I don’t know if I want to ask why it sounds like you know that from experience,” she mused. “But, you know, you never did tell me what work you do when you aren’t being commissioned by the city’s largest museum.”

“Oh, I work with anger, pain, fear, and aggression,” he answered all too seriously. He reached for his second shot, then paused with the glass halfway to his lips when he noticed her expression. “What?”

Byleth rolled her eyes at him, reached across the table, and snatched the glass before he could drink it. She tossed the tequila back easily and then tapped the empty shot against the table. “That’s a terrible line. Just admit you paint caricatures on the street or dabble in watercolors or whatever.”

“I’d starve first,” Felix snorted. For a moment, he watched her fingers toy idly with the empty glass and he found himself a bit fascinated by how slender and graceful her hands were; he felt that even the chipped polish of her nails was oddly appealing. 

Shaking himself from a myriad of thoughts, he allowed his gaze to dart upward to meet her own. “And what about you? All I know is you’re the assistant...or not-assistant to the curator.”

“Not assistant,” she responded firmly. “Though that’s kinda why I wanted to talk to you.”

Felix raised a curious eyebrow. “That call the other night?”

“Yea,” Byleth agreed. Her lip caught between her teeth, she dropped her glance to the stretch of table between them. “See, my actual job is at Garreg Mach. I teach a history course there, but the current dean’s been pressuring me to take a more serious role.”

He shrugged, reached for another glass. “I don’t see why that’s bad...or what it has to do with me.”

“Ok, well, that call you overheard was about the current dean,” she explained slowly. “Apparently, she and her vice dean both were in a pretty serious car accident and the college needs someone to cover for them until the board can vote on temporary replacements.”

Felix stared at her hard for quite a long moment. Still, just before he could comment, he found his attention drawn by the jangling sound of a piano being played rather poorly over the noise of the crowd. He turned his head toward the front of the room and there he spotted a pale haired man playing an old-looking piano while a rather cute little redhead began to sing what was likely meant to be an old-fashioned tavern song.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to have this conversation here.”

Both the unexpected voice close to his ear and the fact that Byleth had once again managed to catch him off-guard caused Felix to startle, but he covered his irritation with a quick nod. Standing from his chair, he took a moment to catch his balance and then gestured for her to lead the way.

It took them a few moments to make it through the crowd to the door and then, for a few minutes more, they walked the crowded streets in silence. Felix naturally gravitated to the less populated alleys and backstreets and, for a time, he led her past nothing more exciting than the backsides of restaurants and shops and rows of dumpsters. Even mildly drunk, he felt that the atmosphere between them was still a bit stiff and so he was a bit surprised when he felt her reach for him.

Her warm, slender fingers tangled with his in a way that seemed as natural as breathing as Byleth pulled him to a sudden halt. Without turning, she peered at him from the corner of her eye. “Hey, do you have any coins? I just have my card.”

Turning to face her, he blinked as if she was speaking another language. “What?”

“A coin? Twenty-five cents?” Byleth tipped her head and then gestured with their entangled hands toward a nearby storefront. “I wanna give it a go. I haven’t played with one in...years.”

Felix continued to be hopelessly confused. He furrowed his brow and frowned at her, but she just responded by gesturing more forcefully. Scowling, he made a childish face, but he did finally turn his attention in the direction she had indicated.

All he saw was the slightly run-down storefront of a mom-and-pop style grocery. From the name on the sign, he took it that they specialized in foreign goods; the name looked like it could’ve come from Morfis, maybe. Still, he noticed that the store appeared to be closed tight for the night; the doors were locked tightly and there was no light to be seen through any of the windows. 

Felix was about to turn and ask her why she wanted money when the store was obviously closed - and then he noticed the row of capsule toy machines lined along the front. Rolling his eyes, he turned a smirk to her. “How old are you again?”

Byleth rolled those strange jade eyes right back at him, but what really did him in was the quick poking out of her nimble, pink tongue. His eyes darted down to track its forward progress through and past her pursed lips and it took him a long minute to meet her eyes again; he both hated and loved the smug, triumphant look he saw there.

“Fine, if you’re going to act like a little kid,” he muttered. Rooting briefly in his pocket, he produced a few coins which he then pressed into her hand. He tried, not entirely successfully, to not let his fingers linger over her open palm too long. “Just don’t ask me any other favors for a while.”

“Never again,” she promised. Grinning her pleasure, she released his hand and hurried to the row of toy machines in front of the closed store. She took a moment to consider her options before choosing to gamble her, well  his , coins on one of the lower options. 

Felix walked over to join her just in time to watch her pop open the slightly opaque egg and he bent over her in order to better see the prize. “What’d you end up with?”

“A pair of plastic rings?” She answered a bit uncertainly. Tipping her head back, she held the egg up for him to see. “Looks like they’re from some kids show, I guess.”

“Something from a kid’s show in a kid’s vending machine? Go fi--”

Bent so closely over her upturned face, he lost track of the rest of his comment. It didn’t really matter, though. All that really mattered was how close they were, how her eyes and face looked so lovely in the play of stark light from the streetlight and the dark of his own shadow, how the loose hair of his ponytail fell over his shoulder and laid in a shadowy whirl against the paleness of her cheek. 

It took just a small forward movement to connect them.

A first, uncertain brushing of lips quickly turned into a tussle. That nimble tongue which distracted him so badly not long before now passed over his lips, demanding entrance. Felix yielded, opening to her and exploring the warmth of her mouth, in turn. Unfortunately, he found the angle to be a bit too awkward, too given to the clashing of teeth. Reluctantly, he drew back, but he couldn’t quite contain his quiet groan when her teeth caught and tugged his lip in parting.

Felix exhaled a long, shaky breath. “My apartment’s just a few streets down from here. We can--”

Her eyes closed, Byleth looked more than a little flushed, but she ultimately shook her head. “Felix, I can’t.”

“ What ?” He spoke a bit more angrily, a bit more forcefully, than he had meant to, but his current frustrated state made it even more difficult for him to not bristle. “Byleth, you can’t spend all night flirting with me, kiss me like that, and then--”

Again, she shook her head. “I have to get up in a few hours for my flight back to Garreg Mach and I don’t think that’s how you want to end this.”

“It’s not the worst way for things to end,” Felix muttered under his breath. With a frustrated noise, he straightened back to standing and paced a few steps away from her. “Fine, whatever. You’re leaving, then? How long are you going to be gone? Are they going to let you come back for the anniversary?”

“Dunno,” Byleth answered honestly. Rising to her feet, she walked over to him, but stopped a few steps away. “I guess it depends on how busy things are. It’s...not really likely I’ll be able to get away, though, if they do want me to take on the dean’s role for a while.”

Crossing his arms over himself, he sighed and turned his head to the side. “Fantastic.”

“At least you have the sketches and base work done for your painting,” she pointed out. “And if you need more modelling, there’s always some way to get in touch. I don’t mind sending photos or whatever might help.”

Felix responded with a vaguely displeased noise and a slightly rude gesture. For a moment, he seemed inclined to follow those with another prickly comment, but he was stopped short when he felt her hands slip around one of his own. He turned his head and glanced sharply down at her, but she just offered a faintly sad smile as she curled his fingers in around what felt to be a small, hard object.

“I don’t know if I can ask you to think of me a bit while I’m gone, but maybe leave this around somewhere. When you look at it, remember the fun we had instead of this argument, okay?”

Before he could ask her what she meant, Felix felt Byleth brush a quick but warm kiss against the corner of his mouth - and then she was gone back the way they had come, back toward the crowded and busy streets of the capital. Instead of staring after her, he uncurled his hand and studied the small ring of red plastic lying in his palm. 


	8. You Were There to Hold On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grand Finale or Another Interlude?
> 
> Who can tell....

_ It seemed his journey had come to an end. _

_ Again, he stood in the lobby. _

_ Again, the calico sat before him, but, this time, she had made a bed of the tangles of his string. In this nest of red, she sat and appraised him with the same quiet curiosity as ever. He returned her stare for a moment and then lifted his eyes to the painting before him. _

_ Or paintings, rather. _

_ This time, a triptych awaited him. _

_ Furthest left, a painting of a young, dark-haired man. He wore what looked to be some sort of military uniform as he leaned against a wall. The painting had caught him in the middle of a conversation, but his expression told the tale well - frustration, annoyance, eagerness, ambition, embarrassment. Just in front of him stood a familiar woman with dark hair and eyes. She looked to be caught between amusement and bewilderment in this sacred tower under a starry sky. _

_ The middle bore a painting of the ever-familiar dark-haired swordsman. This time, however, instead of being caught in the middle of a battle, he stood in the calm of early dawn. With only his turned back to tell his story, he seemed stiff, uncertain, anxious. In the fingers of his glove, he held a small gleaming ring of silver. His attention was lifted and turned to the approaching silhouette of a woman. _

_ The furthest right was easily the happiest he had seen. It showed the dark-haired swordsman and the war-goddess with hair of early spring standing close, facing each other. Each wore a radiant smile under the secret light of evening. Their surroundings were not formal - not a church or an open hall, but a warm field surrounded by lush trees and filled with flowers. Their faces were close, their hands hands tangled. Matching rings of silver caught the failing light of day as they whispered their promises of forever. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it wrong to end on something of a cliffhanger?
> 
> ...I like an uncertain ending, sometimes. Or maybe I wanted it all done before I lost my nerve.
> 
> Either way. Merry Holidays and Happy Christmas, Felileth fans. Thanks for a year full of delicious food.

**Author's Note:**

> Um. I don’t know. It wasn’t meant to be published but I wanted to put something out since it’s been so long and I had this done. Sorry for the choppy format but it sort of worked?
> 
> Also, if you can pick out the two references, then virtual cookies for you!


End file.
